Vignette
by Jen22
Summary: A short K/7 moment


Vignette by Jen  
  
It was a final, desperate effort at self-preservation that drove him. He had loved Seven of Nine from the first moment he saw her; her stunning beauty had effectively rung a death knell for his pride, his sanity, and his peace of mind. Her pale body had invaded his thoughts at every turn, and was never absent from his fevered dreams. He blushed to recall those dreams in the morning, but they came every night just the same. Later, her intelligence and her gallant, if sometimes awkward, efforts to adapt to her new life had secured her place in his heart. But despite the grateful adoration she displayed for him in all his fantasies, and despite the strong, confidant role he himself played in those same fantasies, reality had proceeded somewhat differently. In spite of his eager attempts to get closer to her, in spite of the all-consuming infatuation that was obvious to everyone with whom he came in contact, she had not warmed to him. He knew better, of course, than to expect that she would shed all her Borg characteristics at once. But her coolness, her rudeness - though he knew they were not meant personally - struck him like a blow every time he experienced them. Her apparent indifference had humiliated and angered him. And his tentative attempts to reach out to her upon the few instances of weakness or loneliness that he witnessed were rather sharply rebuffed. He knew that he was the only one on Voyager, except maybe Captain Janeway, who really tried to spend any time with Seven, to cultivate a friendship with her, and he knew, if she wasn't with him, she was often alone. But for his own well-being, he had decided, in despair, that he had to sever whatever relationship they had. And so he had struck out, in his hurt, and accused her of being cold, unworthy of his time and affection, and destined to live a joyless, solitary life. He was unkind in his wretchedness, which was against his nature; the unblinking clarity of her crystal-blue eyes and her lovely expressionless face had spurred him on to greater cruelty. Finally, Harry turned away, defeated, from his love. And then, unsure of what he had seen, turned back. A tear was making its way slowly down her unlined face. Seven of Nine put her hand to her face, wiped away the tear, and, puzzled, looked down at her fingertip. Her brow furrowed. "Ensign Kim ... I ... I am leaking," she said, confused. Harry made a choked noise that was half a sob, half a laugh. His heart broke to see her in tears, to see the unaccustomed uncertainty and bewilderment on her beautiful face. His heart rejoiced to see evidence of her humanity, her vulnerability, and ... Was it possible that she cried for losing him? As usual, he was torn between passion, exasperation, and tenderness for her. He said gently,  
  
"Seven ... you're crying." She frowned at him. "Borg do not cry." she said arrogantly, making a visible effort to contain herself. And sniffled. Harry, touched, longed to hold her. "No, Borg don't cry." He moved closer. "But humans do." He did not touch her. She stared at him and all at once her expression began to crumble. She was young in her human life. "We ... we are Borg ..." she said brokenly. Her breath was ragged. Suddenly she wheeled around and started from the room. All at once, Harry felt strong, stronger at last than Seven of Nine. With all her assimilated knowledge, with all her power, in this, he - Harry Kim, with his inexperience, with his shyness and clumsiness - he was stronger than she. She was frightened, unused to her emerging emotions. He almost laughed out loud to realize that he felt protective of Seven. Protective of a Borg ... that had to be a first! He grabbed her arm, pulled her toward him. He trembled at the feel of her and had to catch his breath at the wild excitement that surged through him. "Seven ... Seven ..." She glared defiantly at him. "Let me go, Ensign Kim." He knew he loved her like he had never, would never, love anyone else. He was helpless against his feelings for her. He took her other arm and drew her to him. As she tried to pull away, he said quietly and firmly to her, "Seven, I will never let you go as long as I live." She gasped, and he saw anger start to harden her flushed face. "Seven .... please..." His breath was coming hard now - waves of desire made him shudder and groan, "Seven, I love you ... God ... I love you..." Of its own accord, his hand slipped behind her long neck and tangled in her hair + smoothly coiffed under his fingers - and the other went around her slim waist and pulled her closer. And then ... at last, oh God, at last ... his lips were on hers, kissing her frantically, passionately. "Kiss me back, Seven," he breathed. "I ... I have never ..." "Shh, darling. Kiss me back." He would die if she pulled away. Then, her cool lips parted and he tasted her sweet mouth. Unbelievingly, he heard her moan; Harry could hear himself gasping her name, he couldn't help himself. He was hard as a rock. Some faraway part of him was shocked at his own behavior, but his need for her was so strong. He held her tightly against him. Without warning, Seven of Nine wrenched herself from his arms; her eyes were panicked. She cried,  
  
"What is happening to me? I am not the same ... we are not the same as we were before!" And ran from the room. Harry was left staring after her, out of breath, amazed, and smouldering in her wake. END 


End file.
